The Space Between
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'A Very Supernatural Christmas', 3x8.


**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

**Contains dialogue from the episode 'A Very Supernatural Christmas', belongs to Eric Kripke and Jeremy Carver.**

* * *

"How much d'you think a Meadowsweet wreath would cost?" Dean asks, opening the door and letting them both into the room.

"Couple hundred dollars, at least," Sam answers.

"This lady's givin' 'em away for _free_? What do you think about that?" Dean pulls off his jacket and Sam does the same.

"Well, it sounds pretty suspicious." He tosses his jacket onto the bed and sits down on the edge of it. Dean sits on the other one.

"You remember that wreath Dad brought home that one year?" Dean says with a big grin on his face.

Sam frowns. "You mean the one he stole from like, a … liquor store?"

"Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great. Y'know, I bet if I looked around hard enough I could probably find one just like it."

Sam stares at him. He is really, really getting sick of Dean being so upbeat and so gung-ho about having Christmas. Dean should be freaking out about his year running out like Sam constantly is, and it's starting to hurt a little too much that Dean isn't. "Alright. Dude, what's goin' on with you?"

"What?"

"I mean, since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden? Why do you wanna do Christmas so bad?"

Dean sighs and avoids the question. "Why are you so against it? I mean, were your childhood memories that traumatic?"

"No, that has nothing to do with it."

"Then what?"

"I mean, I – I just … I don't get it. You haven't talked about Christmas in years."

Dean's face falls just a little – not enough to be noticeable except that Sam's spent over twenty years watching him and he knows all of Dean's micro-expressions. "Well, yeah. This is my last year."

Something hot and cold at the same time runs through Sam's chest. It would be really nice if one of these days he could manage to make it a whole twenty-four hours without almost bursting into tears. So far, he hasn't managed it. "I know. That's why I can't."

"What d'you mean?" Dean asks, would-be-casually, even though they both know he knows what Sam means.

"I mean I can't just sit around drinking eggnog and pretending everything's okay, when I know next Christmas you'll be dead," Sam says quietly. His voice breaks somewhere in the middle and he clenches his jaw in a last-ditch effort to keep the tears back. "I just can't."

Dean nods and doesn't say anything else. They sit in silence for a minute or two, and then Dean sighs again and stands up. On his way past Sam, he pauses and leans down, kissing the top of Sam's head and lingering there for just a moment. Sam blinks against the stinging in his eyes and reaches for his brother, but as soon as he touches Dean's arm, Dean pulls away and heads for his bag. He rummages around in it, pretending to be looking for something so he doesn't have to look at Sam, and Sam stares down at his hands and exhales shakily and tries to think about something – anything – else. It doesn't work. It never does anymore.

* * *

It still hurts to even think about the idea of having some kind of official _Last Christmas_ with his brother, but Sam decides to do it anyway. He's trying not to see it as admitting that he won't be able to save Dean – because he'll die before he ever admits that – but as something he can do for Dean to make up for everything Dean's done for him. Dean spent almost his entire childhood taking care of Sam, being there for him when Dad wasn't, teaching him how to ride a bike and tie his shoes and promising him nightmares can't hurt him. Dean has scarified so much in the course of his relatively short life so that Sam wouldn't have to, right up to and including his _soul_, the most important thing a person has. Even if it hurts, Sam figures he deserves to have Christmas if that's what he wants.

He spends maybe half an hour in a convenience store picking up whatever he can find. There's almost nothing left, but he manages to find a few strings of lights and a weird Merry Christmas wall-hangy-thing that looks like it's made out of cheerleading pom-poms. He gets a small, somewhat sad looking tree from a lot that was almost sold out, and the store didn't have any actual ornaments so instead he buys a bunch of fishing lures and car-fresheners to decorate it with. It looks kinda pathetic once he's finished, but he's sure Dean won't care about that. He's hanging the last lure on the tree as Dean gets back, and Sam looks up as he enters the room and smiles at him.

"Hey! You get the beer?"

Dean sort of smiles and frowns at the same time, looking around the room in surprise. "What's all this?"

"What d'you think it is? It's Christmas."

"What made you change your mind?" Dean asks.

A lump rises in the back of Sam's throat, and he doesn't answer. He can't. Instead, he bends down and picks up the plastic cup of eggnog he poured for Dean. "Here, uh, try the eggnog. Let me know if it needs some more kick."

Dean takes a sip and then exhales and makes a face. "No, we're good."

Sam laughs. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Well, uh … have a seat. Let's do – Christmas stuff, or whatever."

"Alright, first thing's first." Dean sits on the couch next to Sam, reaching into the bag he brought in with him and holding out two packages wrapped in brown paper. "Merry Christmas, Sam."

Sam takes them. "Where'd you get these?"

"Someplace special."

Sam raises an eyebrow and Dean relents, "Gas Mart, down the street. Open 'em up."

Sam chuckles. "Great minds think alike, Dean." He reaches under the couch and pulls out what he got for Dean, wrapped up pages from a newspaper he found in a garbage can.

"Really?"

"There you go." Sam hands the presents to his brother, and the look on Dean's face is like he's ten years old and it makes Sam happier than he could say.

"C'mon."

Sam pulls the paper off one of the packages, pulling out two magazines and laughing loudly. "Skin mags! And …" he opens the other one, "shaving cream!"

"You like?"

"Yeah." Sam smiles even wider. "Yeah."

Dean rips open one of his presents, pulling out the motor oil, and then the other one, revealing the chocolate bar. "Look at this. Fuel for me and fuel for my baby. These are awesome. Thanks."

"Good."

Dean picks up his cup and holds it out. "Merry Christmas, bro."

"Yeah." Sam grabs his and bumps it gently against Dean's. "Yeah, Merry Christmas."

For just a second, things are tense again. Sam feels it like Dean does – that it might be the last time Dean gets to say those words. It's painful in a whole new kind of way. Sam's eyes sting with tears again for the millionth time since Dean made the deal.

"Hey, Dean," he starts slowly, so many things he wants and needs to say, needs Dean to hear, swirling around in his mind. But then he can't say any of them. The look Dean gives him says Dean already knows, so Sam sighs and nods. "You feel like watchin' the game?"

"Absolutely," Dean answers.

"Alright." Sam stands up, reaching out and flicking the ancient TV on. He settles back on the couch and Dean smiles at him. It almost hurts to smile back, but Sam does anyway.

"This is really awesome," Dean says, looking around the room again at the decorations. Sam can't remember the last time he saw his brother look this happy, and he's never loved his nickname more than when Dean adds, "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam nods. They watch the small, fuzzy TV screen in silence for a while, and Sam pours them both another drink and lets the rum warm him up inside and dull his senses a little. He's not even paying close attention to the game, just letting himself soak up the moment. It's easy and comfortable, being with Dean like this, and Sam tries really, really hard not to think about how much he'll miss moments like this if he can't … if he fails. He can't fail. That's the only option. His life would be meaningless without Dean in it, so he just has to save him. End of story.

It takes Sam a minute or two to realize Dean's watching him, and he glances over at his brother and finds a sad but understanding expression on his face. Dean knows him so well; has always been able to tell when Sam's having a moment and needs a little bit of guilt-free comfort, and he slides over on the couch and slumps down a little, resting his head on Sam's shoulder. Sam sniffs and wraps his arms around his brother, kissing the top of his head and then resting his mouth there and closing his eyes against the burning behind them. Dean shifts a little more, sliding an arm across Sam's stomach and leaning into his chest.

"This is harder than I thought it'd be," Sam manages to whisper into Dean's hair.

"I know."

"If I can't …" Again, Sam can't bring himself to say it.

"No, you know what? We're not gonna do this tonight." Dean removes himself from Sam's arms and gets up briskly. He walks over and deadbolts the door. Then he pulls the curtains closed and yanks the phone's cord out of the wall. "Gimme your cell," he says, reaching a hand out.

"Why?" Sam asks, even as he does it; reaching into his back pocket and handing it to Dean.

Dean takes it and powers it off, tossing it into his open duffle bag on the table and then does the same with his own. "The rest of the world is just gonna have to live without us for one night. It's Christmas, man. And it's my … well. But look, none of that tonight, okay?"

He flops back down onto the couth and Sam cocks his head in confusion.

"None of _what_?" he asks.

"The deal, demons, all of it!" Dean cries. "It sucks, dude. It's always there! Even if we're not talking about it, it's still always _there_, hanging between us and I hate it! So tonight, none of that matters. We deserve that much, Sam. After everything, we deserve _one_ night to just _be_, y'know? Without all of that other crap."

"Oh." Sam gets it now, even if he still thinks Dean might have a screw or two loose. "We can't exactly pretend all that stuff doesn't exist."

"We can try. C'mon, man, don't you want that? To just … I don't know. Watch TV, drink, fuck, whatever. And not have everything else in the back of our minds ruining it."

Sam does want that, he's just not sure it's actually going to work. He doesn't think there's anything that could make him forget the deal, even temporarily, other than maybe illegal narcotics. But he's willing to try. "Yeah."

Dean smiles at him again, and then he tips forward and kisses Sam on the lips.

"Always about fucking with you, isn't it?" Sam jokes, to cover up the ache in his heart that's been there every second since he found out what Dean did to save him.

Dean laughs and shrugs. "So I like sex. Don't you like sex?"

Sam laughs back and nods. "I like sex."

Dean kisses him again, more heated this time, opening his mouth against Sam's.

"What, now?" Sam asks.

"You got somethin' better to do?"

"Nope," Sam decides, pushing Dean over onto his back and climbing on top of him. He kisses Dean deeply, dipping his tongue into Dean's mouth. It's only a loveseat so it isn't really big enough for either of them to lie on, but Sam still manages to squash himself enough to get a thigh between Dean's legs and press down. Dean hums into his mouth, sliding one hand into Sam's hair and the other arm around his back. Dean's lips are soft and Sam kisses them greedily, sucking on the bottom one and dragging his teeth over it just because he can. It's warm and familiar and it makes Sam _happy_ to have Dean underneath him like this, which is something Sam hasn't been very much lately. Dean hasn't either, even though he pretends to be, and Sam thinks maybe Dean's right – maybe they do need this. Maybe they need it a lot more than even Dean realizes.

Dean uses his grip on Sam's hair to angle his head and deepen the kiss even further. He licks into Sam's mouth and Sam lets him, and he swirls his tongue slowly around Dean's once it's inside. Dean tastes like rum and the spice from eggnog, and it gives the kiss a tinge of _Christmas_ that for some reason hits Sam at an odd angle and makes him chuckle; the sound muffled by Dean's mouth attached to his.

Dean looks up at him, frowning curiously. "What?"

"You taste like eggnog."

"Okay. And that's funny, why?"

Sam shrugs. "'Cause it's like … Christmas sex."

Dean snorts. "What the fuck is Christmas sex."

"I don't think it's anything."

Dean shakes his head at him, and then he pulls Sam down for another kiss. "We could tie mistletoe to our junk and then make them kiss. Or I could open you up with … fuck, what's Christmassy and slippery?"

"I have no idea." Sam kisses the corner of Dean's mouth, and then drags his lips along Dean's jaw, the stubble making them tingle. "And who says I'm the one gettin' fucked?"

"Your giant dick says." Dean pokes him in the side and his voice is just slightly pouty when he adds, "Which it is so not fair that you get to have. Just by the way."

Sam noses at the soft skin below Dean's ear, and then he licks it. He rocks his hips down, his quickly growing erection pushing into Dean's through their pants. "Thought you liked it."

"I do." Dean bucks up a little against him and smears kisses over Sam's cheek. "It's just, like, one of the larger tragedies in my life that you get to be bigger than me. You're the little brother, it's wrong. And, it takes way longer to get my very small asshole loose enough to stick your freakin' baseball bat of a cock into it."

Sam outright laughs at that, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to Dean's neck. "So we're going for speed?"

"Only way I know how, baby," Dean drawls jokingly.

"You got no idea how sexy that is," Sam teases.

Dean pushes Sam's head up and kisses him again, a little slower and a little more playful. It's been a really long time since things between them were anything close to lighthearted, and Sam didn't really realize how much he's missed it. He pushes his hips into Dean's again, rolling them in a circle and then a back-and-forth sort of figure eight, and Dean hums, a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat, and says, "Big fan of whatever that was."

"Feels good?"

"Yeah. Better if we were naked, though."

"What _isn't_ better if we're naked?" Sam asks, smiling at him, and Dean tips his head back and laughs.

"Like … exorcisms? I don't know, man. Not much."

Sam kisses him one more time, because Dean's lips are shiny and a little swollen and he can't resist, and then he reluctantly climbs off his brother. He reaches out a hand, and Dean takes it and lets Sam pull him to his feet. Despite what Dean said, he goes right back in for another kiss as soon as he's vertical. Sam lets himself get lost in it for another few minutes. His heart flutters with the way Dean squeezes handfuls of Sam's hair and rolls his body against Sam's. Dean is well aware of it so Sam will keep it to himself, but Dean really can be unbelievably sexy when he wants to. Sam's been falling victim to it since he was fourteen.

"Thought you wanted naked," he points out after he's forced to pull back for air from the soul-searing kiss.

"I do. Pants off," Dean orders. He starts pulling at his shirts, and Sam rolls his eyes on principle at being told what to do, but he should be rolling his eyes at himself instead because he does what Dean told him to anyway.

They strip quickly, Sam not wanting to spend any more time away from Dean than he has to and Dean probably feeling the same way, and when they're both completely undressed, Dean takes a second to just look. His eyes sweep down and up Sam's body, and Sam shivers minutely under the scrutiny. He rolls his eyes again and grumbles about it, pulling Dean in and ducking down to kiss his neck.

"Can't help it," Dean says with a smile and his hands smoothing slowly up Sam's bare back.

Sam nudges him back towards the bed, walking them there with his lips still attached to Dean's skin. The backs of Dean's knees hit the edge of the mattress and he goes down, pulling Sam with him. Sam lies on top of him like he was on the couch, only now they have room to stretch out and it's warm, soft skin against skin. Dean's cock slides along Sam's when he moves his hips again, and Dean sighs happily and digs his short nails into Sam's back.

"That's more like it," he whispers, and Sam grins and kisses him.

The ridges of Dean's cock rub against Sam's as he moves, and his lips are slick and demanding against Sam's and Sam loves all of it. He loves how warm and solid Dean is underneath him, how Dean kisses him like he doesn't remember how to stop, how safe he feels when Dean's arms are wrapped around his back. Dean slides his tongue back into Sam's mouth and moves it in slow circles against Sam's and pushes his hips down harder and he really doesn't know if the moan that vibrates between them came from him or Dean.

"If you really wanna fuck me, you can," Dean says softly, his voice deep and rough and Sam feels his cock twitch.

Still, though, he shakes his head. "Want you to."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." It probably makes Sam gayer than he's willing to admit, but he really does love it.

Dean reaches up, smoothing Sam's hair back off his forehead and just looks into his eyes for a minute. Sam looks back – the bright mossy green of Dean's beautiful irises turned dark in arousal and the dim lighting. Then Dean kisses him, soft and slow and sweet, and says, "Next time?"

Sam smiles a little. "You're on."

He rolls off Dean, and Dean gets up momentarily to get the lube from his bag. He flicks the lights off so the only light in the room is from the tree, and then he drops quickly down on top of Sam again. He grinds his hips against Sam's this time, threading his fingers through Sam's and pressing Sam's hand down into the pillow above his head.

"Too bad you can't get stuff that smells like Christmas," he jokes. "Y'know, for the Christmas sex."

Sam snorts. "What does Christmas smell like?"

"For us? Like … KFC and motel bedspreads stained with someone else's jizz."

Sam laughs, stops laughing, and then the words hit him again and he laughs even more. "That's disgusting."

Dean laughs too, kissing the corner of Sam's mouth. "I mean, in later years, the bedspreads were stained with our jizz too."

"True," Sam says, still giggling. His laughter fades away after a moment, and he kisses Dean's lips and very seriously tells him, "I love you."

Dean smiles softly, kisses Sam's forehead, and whispers his standard, "Such a girl," that Sam knows really means _I love you, too._

He reaches between them and slides the heel of his palm up the underside of Sam's cock, picking it up and stroking it a few times lightly. Happy little tremors radiate through Sam and he sighs. Dean spends a couple of minutes just kissing Sam gently and slowly dragging his fist up and down Sam's hard, sensitive flesh. Then he reaches for the bottle of lube and slicks up a few of his fingers, reaching down behind Sam's balls and petting along the skin and then down to Sam's hole. He just presses against it for a moment but then he doesn't waste time working the tip of his finger inside, pushing it all the way in a few seconds later and then coming back with two. It's been a short while since they've done this but not _so_ long that Dean needs to go slow. Sam kisses him passionately in the hopes of communicating that message, and Dean gets it. He picks up the pace, fucking his fingers in and out of Sam's body and spreading them apart to stretch Sam out.

Dean's thick fingers feel good inside him, and Sam rocks down on them, chasing after the pleasure from the spot deep inside and after a minute Dean finds it. He presses his fingertips against it, moving them in a small circle, and Sam moans and lets his eyes flutter closed. Dean sucks on his bottom lip while his fingers push against the sensitive bundle of nerves and Sam lights up inside like the Christmas tree casting splashes of red and green over their skin.

"'Nother one," he requests softly when Dean lets his lip go, and Dean nods, pulling his hand back and then pushing back in with three fingers. The stretch is as familiar as everything else about this, and Sam closes his eyes again and concentrates on the sensations.

Dean spreads all three of his fingers and twists a few times, getting Sam ready from every angle, and then he takes his hand away and replaces it with his cock. Sam doesn't know when Dean spread lube over it – he was too wrapped up on Dean's fingers against his prostate to notice – but the slide is smooth when Dean lifts one of Sam's legs up over his shoulder and pushes in all the way on one slow, steady thrust that forces all the air out of Sam's lungs. He lowers down onto his elbows, bracketing Sam's head, and kisses Sam while he slides deep inside, and Sam holds the sides of his face and kisses back. He moans again and Dean swallows it up, sealing his mouth to Sam's so Sam can barely breathe.

He rocks his hips down instead of telling Dean to move out loud, and Dean starts up a slow, easy rhythm that has Sam's skin tingling and a slow-burning ache of pleasure building in his gut. Somebody groans while Sam licks at the insides of Dean's cheeks and again he doesn't know who it was. He's not sure it matters. He's not sure _anything_ matters – anything but him and Dean and _this_. He's consumed by it, drowning in it, like everything else in the world has disappeared. Dean tries to sit up a little at one point, maybe for leverage, but Sam wraps his hand around the cord of Dean's amulet and doesn't let him move away. Dean nods a little, as if to tell Sam he got the message, and goes back to kissing him. Even still, Sam doesn't let go of the amulet right away. He holds it in his palm, the little metal carving warm and smooth in his hand. He's never said it out loud and maybe never will, but it sort of means everything to him that Dean still wears it after all these years.

Dean's still mostly lying on top of him, so his firm stomach rubs against Sam's cock as he moves, back and forth like the ebb and flow of waves, and it doesn't take long for Sam to start seeing stars.

"Fuck," he mutters.

"Good?" Dean asks, the word smeared messily into Sam's lips.

"Always," Sam answers. Dean kisses him harder, speeding up his thrusts too, and if Sam is suddenly digging his nails a little too hard into Dean's back, he can't help it. Dean doesn't seem to be complaining anyway.

Dean ducks his head down and drags his teeth along the meat of Sam's shoulder, and a rush of pleasure hits Sam like a gust of wind. He moans again and arches up into his brother, so Dean does it again and Sam's head spins. He slides one of his hands down, squeezing Dean's ass and then pushing his fingers between the cheeks and finding Dean's hole. He works one finger into it, only about halfway because the angle is awkward, and Dean makes this soft, whimpering, devastatingly beautiful sound he'll probably be embarrassed about later but it nearly makes Sam come right there just from listening to him. Dean starts moving even faster, fucking into Sam roughly and grunting in his ear and then he's jerking and coming and Sam's filled up with hot and slippery and it just makes Dean's cock feel even better inside. Dean stops moving for just a minute, resting against Sam's chest and catching his breath, and then he goes up a little further onto his knees and pushes a hand between them to jerk Sam off, quick and dirty, while he kisses him breathless and pushes his still-hard cock against Sam's prostate. Sam's orgasm hits him like a punch, exploding out to his extremities and burning like fire in his stomach and forcing a high-pitched noise out of his throat and his eyes to slam shut with the intensity of it.

Somewhere in the haze of pleasure he's mostly aware of Dean pulling out gently and settling down on his back on the mattress; pulling Sam's lax body into his side. He rests his head on Dean's chest and lets Dean hold him while his heart-rate slows back to normal and his brain slowly remembers how to function properly. He's warm and sated and _happy_, and it again hits him how long it's been since Sam could honestly say he's felt that particular emotion. Dean trails his fingers absently up and down the arm Sam's got draped across his stomach, and if Sam keeps his eyes closed and just soaks in the warmth from Dean's skin and the smell of them together, he feels like he's sixteen again. Back before things got complicated. Back when all the hard decisions were left to someone else, and it was just him and Dean in a fleabag motel room waiting for Dad to come back for them but in no hurry for him to do so – when they had nothing to do but just argue and watch bad TV and love each other. Sam misses those days, but lying here wrapped up in Dean's arms almost makes him feel like he has them back.

"You know, um … what I've been thinking about all day?" Sam begins eventually.

"What?" Dean asks, his voice low and gravelly.

Sam slides his hand over Dean's chest, twining the cord of his amulet in his fingers again. "The Christmas I gave you this."

Dean laughs. "No way, really?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"'Cause I have too."

Sam looks up at him. Dean smiles and Sam smiles back before he drops his head back down onto Dean's chest. "Dad promised he'd be home and he wasn't, and I was bummed out so you stole a bunch of presents from some house up the block. Remember?"

"They were for a chick," Dean says, chuckling. "You figured it out in like thirty seconds."

"You tried to give me a good Christmas."

Dean shrugs. "Just bein' a good big brother."

"You always were. Are."

"That was the last time we ever tried to do anything for the holidays," Dean kisses the top of Sam's head and then he continues, "After that one, you … I don't know. It was like you gave up on … on being a kid. I hated it."

Sam nods. He remembers that too. Dean told him monsters were real that Christmas, and after that Sam never felt like there was any point in things like holidays. Dad was never there for them anyway, and Dean always did the best he could, but Sam didn't realize that at the time. "I was too hard on you when we were kids," he says quietly; regretfully. "You were … everything. You know? My brother and my parent and my best friend all rolled into one, and I expected you to be some kind of superhero who could do anything. It wasn't fair to you."

"I never felt like it wasn't fair. I loved it. Loved the way you looked at me," Dean says softly. "Do you remember, um … the time Bobby and I taught you how to shoot?"

"Yes. In the woods behind his house."

"Dad should'a been there. I always felt bad about that."

Sam shrugs a little. "Dad should'a been lots of places."

He's half-excepting Dean to argue with him about that, but Dean just sighs sadly and says, "Yeah. I was always worried you thought it meant he wasn't proud of you."

"I …" Sam swallows and presses his lips together for a moment. It's not as weird as it probably should be – talking about their dad when they're naked and wrapped up together. Sam just knows they still have differing opinions when it comes to how Dad raised them, and the last thing he wants is for this to turn into a fight. In the end, though, he decides to just be honest. "A lot of the time I did, yeah."

"I was proud'a you."

Sam kisses his collarbone and says, "I know you were."

"I've always been proud'a you, Sammy," Dean murmurs. "Don't forget that, okay?"

Sam nods. Emotion wells up in his throat but he swallows again and manages to push it back down.

"'Member the first time we did this?" Dean asks, a slight smile apparent in his voice, and Sam smiles too.

"Had sex, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"'Course I do."

"You were so beautiful."

"Were?" Sam asks, smiling even more when Dean chuckles softly.

"Are. But that day, specifically."

"Why?"

"'Cause …" Dean pauses for a second. He trails his fingers lightly down Sam's spine, making Sam shiver. "'Cause that's the moment we stopped being two people."

Sam doesn't know why Dean's letting himself be so sentimental tonight. He just knows that Dean's words break him. Tears fall unexpectedly; only a few of them but enough that Dean feels them drop onto his skin. He rolls into Sam, nudging him over just a little so they end up in a horizontal hug. He keeps one arm wrapped around Sam's back and pets through Sam's hair with his other hand, and he hooks one leg over Sam's so they're touching all the way down to their toes. Sam pushes his face into the space where Dean's neck becomes his shoulder, and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

"I know, Sammy," Dean whispers, kissing the side of Sam's face.

"Love you so much," Sam breathes.

"I know that too."

"I'm gonna save you, okay?"

Dean sighs, but then he nods. "Okay."

He doesn't believe it. Sam can tell he doesn't. But that's alright. He'll just have to prove Dean wrong. He isn't sad anymore, he's just determined. He is _going_ to save his brother, and then he's going to live the rest of his life spending every night wrapped up in his arms like this. Because he has to.

Dean moves after only a minute, letting go of Sam and sitting up. Sam looks up at him curiously, and Dean shrugs. "You don't wanna just go to sleep, right? It's like nine."

"What else is there to do?"

"I don't know. Whatever people are supposed to do at Christmas. More crappy TV and booze, I guess. Maybe there's an actual Christmas movie on, like that weird Rudolf one with the puppets. And hey, if you're lucky, maybe round two, later."

His eyes sparkle playfully, and Sam manages at small smile.

Dean lies back down, smoothing the hair back from Sam's face again and kissing his forehead. "Look, I ... I'm not try'na be a jerk. Just ... one night, remember?"

The truth is, tomorrow the real world will crash back down around them. But for tonight, as long as he's with Dean, Sam's happy. "Yeah. Okay. Sounds good."

Dean smiles and kisses him again.


End file.
